Something
by willshakespeare-immortalbard
Summary: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE ENCHANTRESS! ***After the events of the Yggdrasil, Will and Palamedes attempt to find a word to make sense of what happened and to put a name to it. NO SLASH—friendship only.***


**A/N—I do not own **_**The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel**_**; it belongs to Michael Scott. I also do not own **_**Mansfield Park**_**; that belongs to Jane Austen. **

**CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR **_**THE ENCHANTRESS! **_**READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!**

**Notes: **_**Mansfield Park **_**is one of my favorite Jane Austen novels, and one day while ruminating on my own failed attempts to write an aftermath to Palamedes' almost sacrifice on the Yggdrasil, I realized that it came from my own inability to find a word that could encompass the kind of reaction I wanted with the kind of interaction between characters that I wanted; a quote from **_**Mansfield Park **_**came to mind. I've not found out how to write the scene I wanted, but I've come up with this. **

** Summary: After the events of the Yggdrasil, Will and Palamedes attempt to find a word to make sense of what happened and to put a name to it. NO SLASH—friendship only. **

* * *

**Something**

"Can we talk?"

Palamedes' deep voice rumbled out toward Will through the darkness, almost seeming to rustle the leaves of the Yggdrasil as it broke the awful, deathlike silence that seemed to haunt Will's chosen branch.

Will shifted uncomfortably upon the bark, dragging his legs out from underneath himself and instead pulling them to his chest so that he could more comfortably look out over the vast expanse of cloudy sky that had nearly swallowed Palamedes earlier that day. "I suppose so, if it's so terribly important to you."

"It is." The smell of cloves spiced the air around them as Palamedes lowered himself to a sitting position.

"Don't sit so close to the edge," Will said quickly, more sharply than he would have like, and he reached out to tug at Palamedes' sleeve, as if that action would pull him back. But he stopped, remembering that Palamedes had been all too willing to fall away earlier, and instead they sat quietly for a moment, attempting to find the words that would start the conversation.

It was Palamedes who eventually managed to get the ball rolling. "That's why we should probably talk."

Will looked at his hands. "My paranoia, or…earlier?"

"Earlier." The first option they left, by mutual consent, untouched; later, perhaps, when the more immediate issue had been solved.

Will finally looked at Palamedes, grateful that his immortality made his eyesight well enough to see the Saracen Knight even in the darkness, which was complete out on the isolated branch of the Yggdrasil.

"Do you have any explanation as to why you…" Will swallowed, choking on the words. "…as to why you did it?"

"I do." Palamedes' voice held the same calm gravity that it had had then. "The same ones I gave when I was actually about to—"

"Don't say it."

"The same ones I gave when I was actually doing it."

"I'm not going to accept those," Will answered firmly. "I didn't accept them then and I won't accept them now."

"Whyever not?"

"Because they're not good enough." It was sharp; far, far sharper than anything he had ever said to the knight since earlier that day, and it was clear that the fight was going to begin.

He could feel Palamedes bristle slightly beside him, and when he spoke it was a sharper, more irate repeat of what he had just said. "Whyever not?"

"Because people don't do things like…like _that_ for people—for friends—anymore."

"You were willing to something very similar in the vimana by the tower, Will."

"But I didn't _say _it!" Will snapped in aggravation.

"Is that what's bothering you?" Palamedes asked frustratedly. "That I _said _it?"

"Yes!"

And they sat in silence, letting the ringing of their raised voices echo out hollowly into the emptiness below, around, and above them.

"I was under the impression that, since we come from centuries where people did do things like that for other people—for friends—that we could make an exception." The knight's answer was carefully formulated.

Will shook his head. "They didn't—"

"Not as frequently, no. But it was known to happen."

"Even if it did, they didn't _say _it."

Beside him, Palamedes groaned, and out of the corner of his eye Will could see him rub his hand against his face.

"Why does it bother you that I said it, Will?"

Something snapped; some floodgate—some dam—came loose, and Will spun around to face Palamedes, looking him directly in the eyes and letting the words out however they came. "Because I like to have a word for things, Palamedes. Before today, that was all good. I had a word for our friendship; it was just that—_friendship. _Like 'giving your compliments' to somebody in a Jane Austen novel."

Palamedes made a face, as if the comparison disgusted him, but Will plowed on.

"Now we have to find a word for what happened today."

"Why?" Palamedes asked, and this time there was anger in his voice. "Why doesn't the same word work, Will?"

"Because when you just 'give your compliments' to someone, you don't tell them that you're willing to fall thousands of feet and die for them!"

Their voices had risen again, and once again they let the echoes fade away into the surrounding silence before they continued.

Palamedes breathed heavily, calming himself; he nodded repeatedly as he processed Will's statement. Finally he spoke: "I don't know that I agree with the comparison of friendship to 'giving your compliments'—"

"What else should I call it?"

"Something less distant! After two hundred years of friendship and thirty of sharing the same—" Palamedes breathed in deeply again, rubbing his hand against his face and clenching his other fist. "But perhaps it's fitting that you used that language," he continued when he had calmed himself again, and whatever he had been about to say he left unsaid. "It gives me the answer to our dilemma."

"Which is?" Will asked, attempting to keep any traces of hostility out of his voice.

Palamedes smiled weakly. "You're familiar with Jane Austen."

"I've _met_ her," Will said, sparing Palamedes an annoyed glance. "Yes."

"Well, she mentioned once, in one of her novels—I'm not a romantic, of course, so don't expect me to name the novel, and certainly don't expect me to give the exact quotation—that the English language has a gap: in that gap is the word which ought to be situated somewhere in between 'giving your compliments' to somebody, and telling somebody that you love them."

Once again there was silence, but there were no echoes; it was the silence that had reigned when they began, when words were still uncertain.

"I think that we ought be able to say with fair certainty that the word you're looking for is somewhere in that gap," Palamedes finished.

It was Will's turn to sit thoughtfully for a moment.

"I suppose so," he said hesitantly. "But that only tells us where the word we're looking for ought to be. It doesn't tell us what it is." He allowed himself a huff of frustration. "It tells me where what you did came from…it doesn't even begin to tell me what you call it—this word that made you willing to—" He motioned helplessly at the cloudy sea surrounding them. "We still don't know what it _is_."

Palamedes smiled, his white teeth a flash of brilliance in the enveloping darkness. He rose in silence, pushing himself to his feet and offering Will a hand up.

Will looked at the knight's hand. "So it's not compliments, and it's not—not something else, but we don't know what it is."

Palamedes stood silently, only proffering his hand to Will again. This time Will took it, and as he did so Palamedes spoke.

"I think that's the point."

* * *

"_Is not there something wanted, Miss Price, in our language—a something between compliments and—and love—" _

Jane Austen, 'Mansfield Park'


End file.
